


Pack

by tyomawrites



Category: Love Death + Robots
Genre: Angst, M/M, Post - Shapeshifters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-28
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-12-25 18:37:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18267113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyomawrites/pseuds/tyomawrites
Summary: Decker reminisces about Sobieski while out in the wild.





	Pack

Decker is  _alone_.

Sobieski was all he had as part of their troop. Now he's all alone in the wild. He couldn't leave Sobieski's dog tags out to be picked up by scavengers and vultures, so he circles back and slides them around his throat, it replaces the weight of his own dog tags. They clink against his chest when he runs, while he feels the wind in his hair and against his fur. It's the same, heavy weight; like Sobieski's hand on his shoulder, like Sobieski's paw across from his, like the weight of a live body next to him that warms him and settles him.

It's been days, almost a month since Sobieski got ripped apart by the other weres.

Decker doesn't want to be alone.

He feels the dirt under his paws, the dirt under bare feet. He takes a while to recover from the bastards that killed Sobieski, his arm still aches during his shift, his abdomen twitches when he runs a hand and paw over the scars across his skin. Decker hates the way his arm still hurts and sometimes it's too much for him to bear alongside the image of Sobieski's shredded face in his head.

They were family, they were  _pack._

Sobieski was everything once they were out in Afghanistan. He stops running, finally. He's in the dark and surrounded by ghosts. There's the weres that he killed, the assholes that took Sobieski from him.

Decker slumps in the sand. He's far away from the base now, far from everything. Far from Sobieski's grave, far from the site of the massacre. Far from everything.

Sobieski was all he had.

Decker takes a deep breath, pressing the palm of his hands against his eyes, rubbing them. The moon stares brightly down at him. It's mocking. If this was any other time, Sobieski would be howling next to him, excited to run, to be free. Sobieski would be clapping a hand onto his shoulder and goading them into a chase across the sand, speeding through and kicking up the dust and tackling each other. Sobieski would be laughing and howling and barking like nothing would be wrong. They'd be happy out here.

Sobieski was his good thing. 

His best thing.

He misses the press of Sobieski's arm around his shoulder, misses Sobieski's fingers curling on his shoulder, or his bicep, or his hand. He misses scenting and bonding. He misses the gentle brush of hands against each other. He misses Sobieski's hand in his. He misses his kisses, his hugs. He misses everything Sobieski gave him.

He chokes back a sob, staring at the sand at his feet. If he'd gone with Sobieski—bile rises in his throat—if only he'd fucking gone with Sobieski then he wouldn't be dead. His best friend—his mate, the only fucking person he had wouldn't be dead. He lets himself crumble into the sand, pressing himself down into the sand. He cries his eyes out, cries his soul out until his sobs turn into a howl.

"I miss you,  _honey._ " He finally gasps against the sand. "I miss you so much."

He's  _alone_.


End file.
